THE MARCH NOSEGAY

The bonny March morning is beaming In mingled crimson and grey, White clouds are streaking and creaming The sky till the noon of the day; The fir deal looks darker and greener, And grass hills below look the same; The air all about is serener, The birds less familiar and tame.

Here's two or three flowers for my fair one, Wood primroses and celandine too; I oft look about for a rare one To put in a posy for you. The birds look so clean and so neat, Though there's scarcely a leaf on the grove; The sun shines about me so sweet, I cannot help thinking of love.

So where the blue violets are peeping, By the warm sunny sides of the woods, And the primrose, 'neath early morn weeping, Amid a large cluster of buds, (The morning it was such a rare one, So dewy, so sunny, and fair,) I sought the wild flowers for my fair one, To wreath in her glossy black hair.